


Ho Chi Minh City, 1999

by AnotherAnon0



Series: Toxic [10]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Smut, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: One year after Raccoon City and hiding out in Vietnam, Nicholai reflects on his relationship with his lover and mentor.The conclusion of the Toxic series.~A smile slipped across his lips as he listened to the two women hurl insults at each other in their native tongue -- he'd learned the curse words quick enough through eavesdropping on the street brawls.His head cocked to the side as he finally decided to entertain the glass bottle that had been tickling the corner of his eye since the lids had shot open. It was omnipresent. He wasn't blameless in that -- having left it perched atop his side table so, so dangerously close to the corner of his bed. But he enjoyed having it close to him, always accessible.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir
Series: Toxic [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718308
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Ho Chi Minh City, 1999

The afternoon heat was abusive. 

Glaring orange light penetrated the cracks in the closed, French colonial-era shutters of his Saigon apartment, reminding him there was no escape until sunset. 

_A few more hours... Just a few more hours._

Vietnam had been an impulse decision. His Russian blood and pale skin was a long way from acclimating to the tropical humidity and penetrating sun of Southeast Asia, but despite being relegated to the cooler midnight hours like a Vampire, he was enjoying his new home. Being a communist country, Vietnam welcomed former Soviet citizens... ones with lots of money to pay off corrupt visa office officials and spend in the country were particularly welcomed.

And Nicholai had _lots_ of it.

Sergei had promised Umbrella would be generous for his work in Raccoon City, and he hadn't lied -- it was more than generous... especially as he'd done as the older man had _informally_ recommended and plucked off the other Monitors, easily identified with a list of names he'd serendipitously found in his fatigue pocket.

_Signed with a little heart, no less._

He was lying in bed, listening to the sounds of the Union square buzzing through the shutters. Motos racing, taxis honking, street food vendors yelling out their offerings to potential customers passing by. The orchestra of Ho Chi Minh was different than that of Moscow, but beautiful nonetheless. His handle of Vietnamese wasn't particularly good yet, but he didn't mind the amused laughs and smiles he'd get when he made mistakes -- most often it resulted in a kindly auntie or uncle trying to shove a bite of food in his mouth in an impromptu ' _what does the foreigner think_ ' taste test. 

The fans parked in the corner of his bedroom hummed softly, casting the occasional blissful breeze over his naked, sweat-dampened body. 

Sergei hadn't been happy when he told him he was leaving Russia -- just days after he returned from his mission. Though the Colonel had lured him into completing more and more depraved missions with the promise he'd be able to fulfil his dreams of escape, Nicholai's desire to _actually_ escape infuriated Sergei.

They'd argued. Yelled. The older man had even planted a nasty, back-handed slap across his face in entitled outrage. His jaw was swollen for days after the altercation.

For a few moments during their fight, he'd wondered if he'd be able to leave at all.

Initially because he though Sergei would rather kill him than let him go -- the man had been so aggressive, and those _fucking_ Ivans had just been standing there at the back of his office, looming over them the whole time. He couldn't defend himself.

Then, as the night went on and just as he had thought things had de-escalated, because of _guilt_.

_"After **everything**? Everything **I** have done for you? Everything we have been through?"_

He'd even returned to his bunker with the intention of staying at the facility. A part of his mind screamed at him for even having considered abandoning the one person who had ever cared for him. Taken him in. Loved him. Especially just as Umbrella was headed into a major post-Raccoon City crisis, the thin layer of public relations efforts slowly beginning to erode as more and more inquiries were lodged by the U.S Government. 

And then, sitting on his bed in silence for hours -- burning a hole in the wall with dried eyes, he realised that the scream in his head that had been berating him sounded a lot like Sergei.

_Self-preservation._

His exit from the Caucasus facility had been swift, the bag of possessions he draped over his shoulder almost smaller and lighter than that containing the money he'd cashed out at the payroll office after returning from Raccoon City. He'd disappeared into the early hours of the morning, using a company car to flee to the Pashkovsky Airport in the nearest city of Krasnodar and taken the next plane to Moscow.

Nicholai sighed, opening his eyes as he heard the loud clamour of car horns and screams erupting outside his window.

" ** _Coi chừng, đồ ngốc_** _!_ " 

" ** _Bạn là một kẻ ngốc!!_** "

Rush hour street-fights. A smile slipped across his lips as he listened to the two women hurl insults at each other in their native tongue -- he'd learned the curse words quick enough through eavesdropping on the traffic brawls. 

His head cocked to the side as he finally decided to entertain the glass bottle that had been tickling the corner of his eye since the lids had shot open. It was omnipresent. He wasn't blameless in that -- having left it perched atop his side table so, so dangerously close to the corner of his bed. But he enjoyed having it close to him, always accessible. 

Sergei's cologne. 

_That smell._

The riskiest move he'd made leaving the facility was stopping to snatch the bottle from the older man's office bathroom on his way out. Precious minutes that could have been fatal, especially considering the trek from Sergei's high, hidden quarters to the parking garage was the longest distance to cover in the entire facility. But it had been one he had wanted to take, and he did. 

Nicholai reached a lazy arm out to grab the bottle. A slim, handsome glass package with a boutique label and Cyrillic text in gold and black. The stopper matched the label. Pearly, thin gold liquid sloshed around inside, immediately emitting the faintest scent through the seams of the cap. He brought it to his nose, deeply inhaling the scent at the seam, eyes fluttering closed.

_Lemons. Poppies? Yes._

Just like when he was drawing it in off of Sergei's body, there was always a new note he could detect.

The stopper 'popped' jovially as he opened it. So close to his face, the bottle of the cologne was overwhelming, intoxicating, vulgar, offensive, abhorrent. It reminded him of Sergei in every way.

Sitting up slightly, Nicholai began the ritual he'd undertaken more times than he could count since arriving to Vietnam -- one that had depleted the bottle's contents to a mere half of what it had been since he'd stolen it. There wasn't more than a third left in what had once been almost full.

The small drizzle hitting his navel always made him shudder in delight. This time, the breeze of the fan still buzzing at the back of the room washed over him just as the fragranced liquid began to leak over his muscle-ripped skin, prompting a soft shudder. The bottle found its careful way back to the side table a his free hand began to massage the cologne down his belly.

Fingers grazed that soft, tender spot -- the one Sergei would always target with precision when they were together. He'd grab him from behind, pulling him close, leveraging the spot with a tremendous hand wrapped around his side. Squeezing it sweetly, whispering into his ear those syllables he would have hated so damn much if they'd come from anyone else. 

_"Kolya..."_

Stroking himself with a cologne-dampened hand, a breathy, suppressed squeak peeped through his parted lips. Nicholai remembered the times they had been beautiful and pure, in that moment not caring that those times might not have existed at all. The times he'd been confused, scared, needy, angry. The times hands grabbing him aggressively from behind, impaling him impossibly deeper onto an impossibly large cock had him calling to a God he didn't believe in.The times probing fingers combed the back of his throat, absolute filth being spat at him, threatened his sanity.

Nicholai's hips slowly worked into his fist. His tongue was dancing along his lips. His wet, fluttering eyes were conspiring with the disgusting heat, the two playing tricks on him as manifestations became visible through the pearls of wetness that were rolling across his lids. He welcomed them -- Him. Sergei, draped over his body, between his legs. A tear-distorted simulacrum of silver hair, pale skin, and muscles. 

The smell made it so much more real. If he clenched his eyes shut, he could feel the older man's kisses. His warmth. His weight. The almost-painful, perfect burning in his stomach that came when Sergei had used him too hard and too long.

_That smell._

A wave of electricity beat through his body as his climax spilled onto his stomach, mingling with the fragrance. He'd suppressed the name that so desperately wanted to gasp from his lips, biting down on his tongue so hard he wasn't sure if he'd cut it or not after a numbness began to set inside his mouth. He didn't care.

His eyes slowly opened, under heavy breath, to the beams of orange beating through the cracks in his shutters, the city orchestra of Saigon resuming its hectic flow into his ears -- as though the whole world had paused the moment the stopper of the bottle had been popped off.

Sergei was gone. He'd never been there. Nicholai knew that.

_And yet._

Nicholai resolved that when the cologne bottle had been emptied from his little rituals, he'd discard his memories of Sergei along with it.

But he still had a few months left.

If he was cautious.

**Author's Note:**

> [One more part has been added after this. It is technically a stand-alone but it is within this universe.]
> 
> First! Translations: The Vietnamese drivers outside of Nicholai's window:
> 
> "Coi chừng, đồ ngốc!!" -- Watch out, Idiot!
> 
> "Bạn là một kẻ ngốc!!" -- I'm not the Idiot, you are!
> 
> I also thought I would note that the text of the building in the background of the graphic for the series says "Everything is going to be okay." I am not sure where I found that picture, or what the context is for that building having that sign... Kind of bleak. 
> 
> Wooooow this was fun. Like I said in another part, these ended up being more interconnected than I had initially intended, so I would recommend reading through if you have not. But jeez! I had fun with this.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! :D Also -- This is the first story where the Sergei/Nikolai tag is officially in the relationship repository. I AM ABLE TO TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY LMFAO
> 
> Of course, Sergei would die in 2003 in the battle with Wesker at the Caucasus facility, but I will leave it to imagination how Nicholai handled that, or if he heard of it at all. Perhaps I will do a one-shot in the future? Thoughts?
> 
> This series came in at around 21,000 words, or approx. 50 single-spaced pages! If you read the whole thing... May you be blessed. I have no idea how I wrote that much but somehow cannot do my homework.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
